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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893387">Day 7: Smoke</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d'>mrs_d</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Do What I Wantober 2020 [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Recreational Drug Use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:03:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What I mean is, you keep me grounded,” he said, trying to get the massive thing in his chest out into words and not sure he was succeeding. “Without you, I’d— I don’t know. Spin out or something.”</p><p>“Like a go kart on a banana peel,” Shane agreed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Do What I Wantober 2020 [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Day 7: Smoke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasm_side/gifts">chasm_side</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was late — so late it was almost early. They finished shooting (finally), ate the traditional post-ghoul hunt Taco Bell, and headed back to their budget hotel. Unloaded the gear, said goodnight to the crew in the hall, but Shane dawdled behind him while Ryan fished his key to their room out of his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Ryan asked, turning around. “You’re hovering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane had that look about him, that jittery, about-to-interrupt look, but Ryan wasn’t talking. He’d looked like that all night, come to think of it — to the point that, if Shane were anyone else, Ryan would think that he was nervous about taunting spirits in one of the most haunted locations in America. But Shane was Shane, so Ryan had no fucking clue what was going on with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come outside with me?” Shane said. It wasn’t an answer, but Ryan shrugged and put away his keycard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane stayed silent throughout the elevator ride. Silent as they walked through the empty lobby, and silent as he led them to a secluded corner of the parking lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fumbled a joint and lighter out of his denim jacket pocket, and Ryan helped shield him from the wind, so he could light up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Shane said, his mouth full of smoke. It was the first word he’d spoken in a good ten minutes, and he didn’t follow it up with anything. Ryan was really suspicious now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the joint when Shane passed it and inhaled deeply. Shane always had the best weed, and together they made quick work of it. Ryan led the way back inside. In the harsh, artificial light of the lobby, Shane’s eyes were glassy, and Ryan knew his own were no better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the way to the elevator, he caught sight of a vending machine and pointed. He didn’t have to say a word, and Shane had his wallet in hand. Ryan smiled at him in the glass reflection of the vending machine door, and Shane smiled back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they each had a couple snacks in their hands, they called the elevator again. Ryan’s stomach gave a pleasant squirm as they started to rise, and he heard himself giggle. Shane sent him a curious look, but he chuckled, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s four in the fucking morning,” he said, which was accurate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Ryan agreed. “Life of a ghost hunter, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, I’m not a ghost hunter,” Shane replied, the way he always did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” said Ryan with a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Ryan a few minutes to remember where their room was — he supposed the weed was really starting to hit now, because the hallway seemed very, very long. Luckily, Shane helped him, tapping his shoulder when he passed what proved to be their door. Ryan stopped, but then faced the dilemma of having to let go of his snacks to get the keycard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Shane was in his space, his hand brushing Ryan’s torso. Before Ryan could react, he was gone again, taking one of the bags of chips out of Ryan’s hand, and that was when Ryan realized that Shane had been about to reach into his pocket for him, to get the key. Like that was something they did, like that level of closeness was a regular thing for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Ryan wished it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane wouldn’t meet his eye. His cheeks were flushed a spotty pink. It was a rare enough sighting that Ryan stared for a beat before shaking himself back to reality and opening the door.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan kicked his shoes off and sank at once onto the bed he’d decided earlier was his. The mattress and duvet were plush under his spine, but when he closed his eyes, he felt the room swaying side to side like he was on a boat, and he sat up a moment later with a wave of unexpected nausea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No good?” asked Shane, coming out of the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No good,” Ryan agreed. He got to his feet and stood till he was settled. Then he slowly lowered himself to the floor between the beds. He leaned back against the side of his mattress. The world stayed blessedly stationary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much better,” he said, stretching his legs out until his toes brushed the bottom of the duvet on Shane’s bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane was standing at the foot of the bed, seemingly stuck between wanting to take his jacket off or leave it on — he half-pulled it down, then put it back, then pulled it down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit down, you’re tilting the room,” said Ryan after a minute of this. Looking up at Shane’s gargantuan form from down here, really did make him feel a bit dizzy. It was like watching the top of a flag pole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane huffed a laugh and finally took his jacket off, draping it over the desk chair behind him. Then, like a spider crouching down, he bent his long legs and settled on the floor opposite Ryan. As he arranged their small heap of snacks between them, Ryan realized he could move his foot just a few inches to the right, and he could touch Shane’s side the way Shane touched his in the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Payback,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d say, if Shane called him out on it. Plausible deniability. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did he want that? He didn’t know if he did, and trying to decide seemed like a lot of unnecessary work. Everything felt so easy right now, easy like it rarely did, especially after a harrowing shoot, and Ryan didn’t want to ruin it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he heard himself say instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?” asked Shane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan waved a hand, encompassing the snacks, the hotel room, Shane himself. “All of it. I think I needed this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words felt right, but Shane’s face twisted, so it must have been wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it,” Ryan said, to persuade him. He pushed through the sleepy feeling — the weed had relaxed him completely, easing the tight ball of stress that lived in his chest 24-7 — and sat up. “I know I give you shit about— well, everything. But I just wanted to tell you, I really appreciate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane surveyed him with red, squinted eyes. Checking for sarcasm, no doubt. Waiting to hear the rest of the bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious,” Ryan went on. “I got pretty freaked out tonight, you know, with those footsteps—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wind,” Shane corrected him, like he just couldn’t help himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan huffed out a laugh. “That’s exactly what I mean,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane raised his eyebrows. “So you admit it was just wind?” he said. “I think that means I won.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did not win,” Ryan laughed. “Those were footsteps, and the audio’s gonna back me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Ryan,” said Shane indulgently. Normally he would find it infuriating, but Ryan was too warm and comfy to get mad right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I mean is, you keep me grounded,” he said, trying to get the massive thing in his chest out into words and not sure he was succeeding. “Without you, I’d— I don’t know. Spin out or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a go kart on a banana peel,” Shane agreed, but there was something off about his tone. Like he was forcing it. Shane never sounded like he was forcing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Ryan had to ask. “You’ve been weird all night. All week, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane fiddled with the button on his cuff. “I—” he said, and then shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can tell me,” said Ryan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Shane. He looked up and met Ryan’s eyes at last. “I  can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane shook his head again. “Look, I— I appreciate you too, Ryan,” he said finally. “You’re a— good friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, it felt a consolation prize when he said it like that, but Ryan honestly wasn’t sure which of them he was supposed to be consoling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, man, I’m— you’re a good friend, too,” he said. “More than a friend. You’re like, a partner. My work husband, or something,” he said, starting to giggle again, but he sobered quickly, because Shane looked—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just looked so sad. When he did start looking so damned sad? How long had this been going on? And why hadn’t Ryan noticed before?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was the weed (it was probably the weed), but for some reason Ryan saw things clearly all of the sudden. He saw the way his feelings stretched between them like a giant soap bubble. Beautiful, colorful, shiny, fragile as hell. He couldn’t get too close; one wrong move and everything would burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bubble, it kept Ryan safe, but it kept Shane distant, too. Like hugging someone while you were holding a basketball, and, wow, his brain was coming up with a lot of park-related comparisons today, what was up with that? They moved around it, treated it like it was normal, but it wasn’t normal to dance around each other like this. And now that Ryan saw it, he kind of hated it. He wanted to break that bubble, to watch it pop and leave nothing but— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soap sparkles in the grass,” he murmured, finishing his thought out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” said Shane suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ryan had completely lost the thread. Why he was talking about soap?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate it too,” Shane said. “I want to be close to you, Ryan. I want—” he faltered, his eyes dropping to the carpet. “I want so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan blinked, thinking things over in that drug-induced way where he wasn’t really thinking at all. “Maybe you can have it,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe?” Shane repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ryan corrected himself. He let his eyes drop, tracing the curve of Shane’s familiar lips, the long line of his body. “No maybe. You can have it. I— I want it, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt right to say that, and this time Shane obviously agreed, because there suddenly wasn’t a lot of space between them. Shane’s mouth landed on his, tentative at first, like he thought Ryan would snap out of it once it was happening. But Ryan shifted nearer and slipped his tongue out, the way he did with everyone he kissed, everyone he cared about, and the reaction — from Shane, from himself — was everything he’d never told himself he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Shane pulled back, still careful, still shy. Ryan wondered what it would be like to wreck him, to see him truly lose his composure, and the thought triggered a ripple of lust that Ryan was too stoned to deal with tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like he’d read Ryan’s mind, Shane said, “We should sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded. As much as he wanted Shane — and it was a lot — he was tired, and high, and it was now almost five in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same bed?” he asked, sounding needy and not caring one bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Shane without a moment’s hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went through the routines of getting ready for bed the way they always did after a shoot, taking turns in the bathroom, turning on the lamp between the beds, moving their stuff out of the way. It felt familiar and domestic, but also brand new. Electric, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, they climbed into bed together, and Shane gave him a short, minty kiss. “Sorry to burst your bubble,” he said, reaching over him to extinguish the lamp. “But I’m not sorry at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither,” said Ryan, though he was kind of confused by Shane’s choice of words. He closed his eyes and settled into his side, content to let it go. They could talk in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, when he was right on the verge of sleep, his eyes snapped open again. “Wait, did I say all that out loud?” he asked. “About the soap bubble, and the basketball, and the— the feelings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane pulled away, stared at him the dark for a long, long moment. “You idiot,” he said finally, and Ryan fell asleep laughing with him. </span>
</p>
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